


And It Still Comes Back to Us

by chalantness



Series: part of the journey is the end [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fix-It, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18652855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: She lets him wade in his thoughts. Lets him come back to her on his own. He always does, and part of her knows that he alwayswill. She doesn’t quite believe in fate or destiny, but she believes in Steve and that’s all she needs.





	And It Still Comes Back to Us

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FANFIC CONTAINS MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS.
> 
> This is basically one big closure fanfic addressing the problems I had regarding Nat's arc in the movie and a little of Steve's, too, which was mainly:
> 
> \- Steve not well and truly mourning Nat's death beyond a minute of him crying with the others by the lake, even though they were clearly the most emotionally connected  
> \- Steve claiming he had a different dream from the one he had before he went into the ice, as he'd said in _Age of Ultron_ , yet he'd reverted back to his old dream by staying in the past  
> \- Nat not having a fucking funeral or ceremony in her honor of any kind  
> \- Nat's body being left on Vormir, because if it didn't just disappear when the Soul Stone was brought back, they should've fucking buried her properly  
> \- the final edit of the movie cutting out Nat's rage being channeled into training as was seen in basically every damn trailer and TV spot
> 
> So. Basically this is gratuitous fanfare for myself and I hope it's closure for some of you darlings, too.

The first thing she sees when she wakes up is Steve: his chin tipped forward, blonde hair falling over his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as he stares down at the sketchbook in his lap, dragging his pencil across the page in short, quick strokes. _Shading_. She doesn’t know how many times she’s listened to this sound – sitting across the table from him, or beside him in the briefing room, or on his tiny couch in his shitty apartment in D.C. – and she certainly doesn’t remember the last time she’d ever heard it.

It had to have been years ago. Steve sketched on any scrap of paper or corner of napkin he could get his hands when they’d gone on the run after The Accords, but The Snap was different. His hands barely stopped shaking long, his body every bit as restless as hers, though he’d gone out into their broken world, channeled his energy on support groups and volunteering while she went at punching bags until her knuckles went raw, went through hundreds and thousands of bullets as she shot at targets, day after day.

She used to think it was ridiculous that she found this small, simple sound comforting.

But now? She kind of loves it.

“If that’s a sketch of me sleeping,” she starts, smiling at the way his gaze snaps onto hers, his entire expression easing as he sits up a little straighter in his chair, “I’m going to take your pencil and throw it at your head.”

He exhales a chuckle, sets his sketchbook on the nightstand as he leans forward, elbows resting on the bed, brushing lightly against hers. Sometime while she’d been passed out in Tony and Pepper’s guest bedroom, he’d slipped inside and dragged the armchair from the corner closer to her, barely a foot away.

Not that she expected any different. When they’d come back from space, back from _time_ —since _she’d_ come back into existence, sealing the Soul Stone back into that desolate planet—she barely went two steps without being pulled into someone’s arms, squeezed into a hug. There had been tears, from them and from her, and when they’d started to talk over each other in a rush of sentiment and questions, Wanda had pried her away and latched herself onto Natasha’s side, silencing everyone with a stare. Natasha had only hugged the girl tighter, smiling as she brushed the stray strands of her hair behind her ear, and Wanda had poured everyone tea as they crammed into Tony and Pepper’s room and sat around Tony in bed, Morgan cuddled at his side. Using the Stones had left his right side nearly charred off, close to killing him, but somehow, he’d managed to survive.

(There seems to be a lot of that going around these days.)

Sam had asked if she’d felt her body hit the bottom, if she remembered it at all, and she thinks she must _not_ because she doesn’t remember it hurting. She doesn’t remember anything.

She remembers closing her eyes, remembers the sensation of falling, and then—

Then she’d woken up in water, nearly gasping for breath, and Steve had been calling for her, pulling her up and into his arms, murmuring her name in a near panic. He’d held her so tight that it almost hurt, but she didn’t dare ask him to let go. She wanted to feel his body against hers. She wanted to know without a doubt that he was real.

“You’re awfully violent for someone that slept for five hours,” he quips, his voice low, his face close to hers.

She raises her eyebrows. _Five hours_. She had just wanted to lay down for a little, after Tony had fallen asleep and they’d cleared out of his room, but it seems that she was more exhausted that she’d realized.

His lips quirk into a grin at her expression. “You were out as soon as your head hit the pillow. Seems like you had a lot of excitement for one day.”

“Well, if you want to be technical,” she says, holding his gaze as she rolls onto her side, tucking an arm under her head, “I was gone for quite a few days.”

Steve chuckles again, though she watches as his expression fades at the edges, his forehead creasing as his gaze shifts across her face. He swallows lightly and reaches for her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers as he smooths his thumbs over the knuckles—back and forth, quiet and distracted, and she lets him wade in his thoughts. Lets him come back to her on his own. He always does, and part of her knows that he always _will_. She doesn’t quite believe in fate or destiny, but she believes in Steve and that’s all she needs.

“We were going to have your funeral today,” he tells her through the tightness in his throat.

Her breathing falters, but only for a moment. “Yeah?” she asks.

He swallows again, nodding. “I—I was going back for you. Clint couldn’t bring himself to take your body back, but the second he came home, he’d regretted it. So much, Nat.” The nickname tugs at her chest, makes the air rush out of her almost all at once. “He wanted to be the one to put the Soul Stone back and bring you home, so we could have this beautiful ceremony Wanda prepared, but I didn’t want him to have to see you like that again.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t even sure if _I_ was going to keep it together.”

“Did you?” she asks, blinking slowly, afraid to look away, to move even just a little. His grip tightens on her hand like a lifeline and she manages a smile.

His lips twitch at the corners, pulling into a small smile in return. “I lost it as soon as my feet hit the ground.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but his words settle over her thoughts, warmth unfurling in her stomach and shooting through her veins, even as her chest tightens from the pure grief in his eyes as he recalls that moment.

“Steve.” It feels a little like she can’t breathe.

“I nearly chucked the thing and left,” he admits, letting out a quick, manic sort of laugh, no doubt wondering what would have happened if he’d done so. He wouldn’t have realized the chance he’d tossed away. Then he shakes his head, as if trying to rid of the thought altogether, meeting her gaze again. “I never got the chance to realize that you were really gone. We’d mourned you. We all did, but there was still so much left to do—so much else to focus on. Even after, when Tony barely made it through, there were a few last pieces to recover. Loose ends to tie.” His lips tug at the corner. “Then Wanda talked about your funeral, and Clint wanted to bring your body back home to us, and I—”

She shushes him gently, pulling her hand from his to brush her thumb over his lips. Her heart _hurts_ , watching him relive these memories, hearing him relive his sorrow.

“You don’t have to,” she reassures, cupping his cheek, stroking her fingers over the slight stubble along his jaw. “It’s okay, Steve.”

But he shakes his head, taking her hand in both of his again. “I wanted to be the one to take the Stones back, and I—” He licks his lips, hesitating, squeezing her a little tighter. “I didn’t want to stay here, Nat,” he admits in this small, low voice, like he’s almost disappointed with himself. “I was going to bring your body home, and then I was going to go back in time again. Try to live the life I’d lost before I went in the ice.” His eyebrows furrow, forehead creasing, and she can tell from his expression that this genuinely bothers him. If anyone deserved to make a move like this, it would be Steve. He’s done more enough, sacrificed more than enough, and he deserves to have whatever ending he wants.

But that doesn’t quite stop her breaths from becoming shallow at the thought. Doesn’t quite stop her chest from feeling too tight to feel anything else.

“And I realized I was just trying not to move on. I’d lost you, Nat,” he says, his voice cracking ever so slightly on her name, “and it felt like waking up in a whole new decade again. It felt like having the world pulled out from under my feet, and I wasn’t sure if I’d find my ground a second time.”

She blinks once, twice, then quickly, her vision going blurry at the edges. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if she can even get her voice out, but continues on.

“But even before I’d put that first stone back, I knew I couldn’t go back into the past. I’d get back the life I was supposed to have, the dream I was supposed to make happen. Except I didn’t want that anymore.” He breathes out a chuckle, laughing at himself as he shakes his head. “I wanted _this_ life, with _this_ family, even if you weren’t in it. And it was going to be so hard to be without you, Nat. It was never going to be half as good as the life I wanted for us, but leaving our family would have been like losing you twice.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a tear rolling out from the corner of her eye and into her hair.

_The life I wanted for us._

_For us._

“I’d never cried so hard in my life, on that damn planet all by myself. Everything hurt. _Everything._ And you know what pissed me off the most?”

She’s almost afraid to ask. She doesn’t know if she’s prepared for the answer. “What?”

He manages a wry sort of smile. “I know you. I know your every thought, _always_ —and I know you fell for that Stone with the belief that this was going to be the thing to make up for your past. That this was the sacrifice to needed to make to wipe the blood off of your hands.” She presses her lips together and he tightens his hold on her hand, her chest feeling tight, her stomach flipping in unease—in _guilt_. Because this was the truth. “You never, ever believe me when I tell you you’ve more than made up for your demons, Nat. I made bad choices, too. We _all_ have, and you’re the first one to forgive us, convince us of our worth. But you never let us convince you? You died believing so little of yourself?”

She makes a noise from the back of her throat. “Steve—”

“I was devastated to have lost you, but I was also pissed at you. I know you wouldn’t have let Clint sacrifice himself. I know it was needed. I _know_.”

She starts to sit up, feeling the emotion burst through her, and she feels helpless against it. Against everything she’s tried to talk herself out of feeling, out of thinking. “ _Steve_ —”

He grasps her arms, his hands trembling ever so slightly, his face only inches from hers as his eyes. “But you’re so ready to leave us? You think you _deserved_ it?”

“It couldn’t have been him,” she says, her voice shaking. “He needed to be there for his family when they came back. It shouldn’t have been him.”

“It shouldn’t have been either of you,” he shoots back, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, brushing another tear away as it starts to fall. “But I think you’re the only one that doesn’t believe that.” He tucks his fingers into her hair, cradles the back of her head. “What did you feel while you were falling?”

She swallows through the tightness in her throat. “ _Steve_.”

“Please,” he whispers, drawing her forehead against his. He’s never, ever touched her like this, held her like this, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I felt devastated.” Her eyes are almost completely blurred with tears, but she stares right back into his bright, bright blue eyes, letting them anchor her. Letting them calm her. “I had a real chance to get our family back, and I _knew_ we were going to make it work, but I wasn’t going to be there to see it. I felt _pissed_ that I had to make the choice to begin with, and then I felt guilty for even thinking that, because what was the alternative? _Clint_ dying? Laura and the kids going without him? Was that truly any better? But I—” Her heart stutters in her chest, but the words still pour out from her lips. “I think I finally wanted to slow down. I wanted _more_ for myself, and for the first time, it felt possible.”

“It _is_ ,” he whispers, his breath arm against her face with how close they are. She twists her fingers into his shirt, needing him to anchor her. “You spent years trying to get me to live my life. To get me to move on from what I’d lost, so it’s only fair that I do the same for the woman I love, even if it takes the rest of our lives.”

She exhales a laugh, her voice shaky and trembling. “Love?” she echoes.

He smiles, crooked and boyish, eyes wet with tears, and she’s never seen anything so perfect. “Yeah, Nat.” He swallows, gently cupping her face in his hands. “I love you.”

But before she can take a breath to respond, before she can even _blink_ , he slants his lips against hers and it sends tingles shooting through her veins. His kiss is gentle, but not at all tentative, not at all hesitant. He kisses her because he wants to. He kisses her like he’s meant to.

And she kisses him _back_ , harder, because she wants to. Because every ounce of her body is drawn to his, because every part of her fits perfectly against every part of him.

“I love you, too,” she murmurs against his lips, smiling, heart fluttering at the way he groans ever so softly, like he’d waited his entire life to hear those words. She kisses him harder, twisting her fingers tighter into his shirt, and he says the words again, muffled against their kiss, but she still hears them.

She looks forward to hearing them for the rest of their lives.


End file.
